


The Right Time

by 13atoms (2Atoms), WondersoftheMultiverse



Category: The Great (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, Hurt and comfort, Reader Insert, References to Torture episode, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28110456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Atoms/pseuds/13atoms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WondersoftheMultiverse/pseuds/WondersoftheMultiverse
Summary: Your heart shattered ever further as the Count simply stared at you silently, his mouth opening and closing as though he was a fish that had been plucked from the safe haven on his pond. His shoulders sagged slowly as he further slumped down amongst the pillows, his hands resting against the soft silk sheets. Inhaling sharply, you looked away briefly to reset your composure, your chin rising as you nodded slowly to yourself in affirmation.“I can’t wait forever, Orlo.” You sighed, your fingers winding their way amongst themselves. “Whatever it is that’s holding you back, that you’re scared of-”You frowned as you licked your lips, dreading the words that were to come next.“I hope you work through it because I can’t keep going on like this.”'You don’t know exactly when it is gong to happen, but you know deep in your heart that it is going to happen. But the waiting is the hard part.'  - Descartes
Relationships: Count Orlo x Reader, Orlo x Reader
Kudos: 10





	The Right Time

**Author's Note:**

> Here is part 1 of ‘The Right Time’, @13atoms and I were inspired by the servers recent The Great watch along and decided to cowrite a fic where we each wrote a part. So yeah, part 2 will be appearing over on @13atoms page so make sure to give her a follow and keep an eye out for the follow up! (I’ll also link it here to once its posted!)

**Part One: The Waiting Is The Hard Part**

_You don’t know exactly when it is gong to happen, but you know deep in your heart that it is going to happen. But the waiting is the hard part. **\- Descartes**_

It was funny how even the most intricately planned schedules could be flipped on their head in an instance, the light hearted plans you had made for the day fracturing in a second, replaced instead with an overwhelming sense of existential dread.

The shift in moods seemed to have not only encapsulated the bodies that filled the palace walls, but also the essence of Russia itself. The bright and warming sunshine that had shone down across country had been replaced by bitter howling winds that whistled throughout the unusually empty corridors, the skies grey as the soft pattering of rain and hailstones colliding against the windows filled the room, it’s ambience a pitiful attempt by nature at drowning out the soft groans and hushed voices of the _‘burnt’_ individuals within. 

You shifted uncomfortably in the solid wood chair you had dragged to one side, the dark green leather cushions barely bracing your aching back. Your hands remained clutched tightly in your lap, eyes shifting across the small mound of cotton throws and silk sheets. The anxiety which pulsed through your veins was only emphasised further by the constant ticking of a small clock perched atop of Orlo’s fireplace, the suffocating silence between each click dragging on for an eternity as you waited with baited breath for even the slightest of movements.

Truthfully you hadn’t known what to expect when you left the makeshift torture house, your mind had been thrusted into a state of shock as the mounting screams filled your head and threatened to haunt your dreams for weeks to come. Every step away from the cramped hall had lightened your mood if only slightly, your souring state attributed to your swelling right eye, wound littered back and eel stung hands. 

But you knew what you hadn’t expected to see when you passed through those godforsaken doors, that being of Orlo’s crumpled body supported by two disgruntled guards. 

Your breath had frozen in your chest as you stumbled to a halt before the scene, your eyes trailing the Count’s awkwardly slung figure before snapping across to the small audience of Velementov and Voronsky. Prying questions had flown from your lips as you quickly forgot about your own injuries, your fleet flying down the stairs to take control of the situation. Through light japes and hearty chuckles, the pair had explained to you how Orlo’s face had greyed as he passed out in relief at the ceasing of interrogations, his body barely saved by the escorting guards that had arrived to pull him through his paces.

Orlo’s lifeless form had been hauled back to his own apartments and thrown onto the bed with little care, even your short sharp barks demanding respect had gone ignored as the pair of men slinked out of the room in a blink of an eye. Count Orlo’s own personal staff had tried to convince you to do the same, their eyes focused onto the growing stains of blood which blossomed across the back of your dress and reddening burn ridden hands. Their concerns and requests had been batted away with a swipe of your arm, a tight smile pulled across your features as you had excused them of their service for the remainder of the evening.

A series of high pitched chirps sung throughout the room as Orlo’s mantlepiece clock signalled the passing of an hour. With a heavy sigh you leaned forwards slowly, the sharp sting of your still healing wounds wracking your form as you reached for the damp cloth and bowl you had placed beside Orlo’s bed. Wringing out the damp rag, you shifted so that you were instead perched against the side of his bed, your fingers gently trailing his features as you pressed the cooling cloth against his clammy skin. 

It concerned you deeply that he was yet to awaken from his fainting spell, you had always believed them to pass within a matter of minutes. Doctor Chekov however had been less surprised, his eyes rolling as he blamed the Count’s lethargy and exhaustion for being the root cause of his extended state of unconsciousness. Although his reasoning was well founded, it had brought you little relief as you returned to the uncomfortable haven of Orlo’s spare chair.

Pulling the makeshift compress away from his skin, you threw it back down into the bowl of shallow water perched on the floor. At least you could find some form of comfort from the ordeal, as for once Orlo appeared to be enjoying some semblance of peace tucked up within his bed. His face was the epitome of a blank slate, his features devoid of his characteristic worried frown. Your eyes caressed the curve of his jawline before falling upon the tight buttons of his collar, reaching outwards you gently popped them open, alleviating the pressure from around his neck and making him more comfortable in his state. 

Leaning back on the bed, you jumped as your hand brushed against his own, his skin hot and clammy to the touch. Relaxing when Orlo didn’t appear to stir, you allowed your fingers to grace against his hand once again, your eyes latched to his fingers as you timidly slipped your own into the spaces between. Your heart clenched tightly in your chest as your hands melded together into one, as though they were two pieces of an overly complicated puzzle. The weight of his touch brought a new sense of comfort upon you, lifting your soul and distracting your mind from the shitshow that was quickly becoming your life.

Your feelings for Orlo had extended far deeper than that of a casual friendship, the kindling fragments of adoration seemed intent on staking their place within your heart and burning into an uncontrollable passion. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined a Count casting his eyes over you, a lowly daughter to an easily forgettable lord. You wielded no power with your name, the funds that backed your stay barely enough to fund your status driven company. Usually interest in you was lost as soon as you uttered your name, but Orlo had been the only one to stay, your shared interest in literature and history providing the foundations for the relationship you shared now.

Or rather… _lack_ of relationship. Being honest with yourself you found it hard to define the status you shared, the state of your friendship was in question as the dictionaries lacked any real accurate substitute for the complicated nature of your bond. 

Upon meeting Orlo you had quickly found yourself revelling in the time you spent together, eagerly making allocations in your day to drop by his quarters in order to continue the long and drawn out chats that were often cut off during coup meetings. Minutes would turn to hours as your time spent together dragged on into the early evening, the tone of your voices and intensity of shared glances shifting into something akin to attraction and adoration. 

It had taken you three shots of neat vodka before you had willed up the courage to declare your feelings towards him, a last ditch attempt after your previous more subtle attempts had fallen short.

Gently you brushed your thumb along the inside of his index finger, a well of tears slowly forming within your eyes as you dared to imagine a world without him by your side. It was a concept you dreaded to consider, his comforting presence worming itself into your heart and sowing its seeds for its indefinite stay. 

Shaking your head, you wiped away the stray droplets that trailed down your cheeks, your gaze hesitantly turning to Orlo’s features where you met his own.

Leaping from the bed in fright you carelessly kicked the stray bowl which rested to one side, the water sloshing off its edge and splashing across various discarded parchments which lined the outer edges of Orlo’s apartment. Cursing you dropped down to your knees with a loud bang, your bones jolting as you grasped the bowl and pulled it up to rest against the chair. With the edge of your skirts you quickly patted down as much water as you could, saving the rogue writings and books from their watery demise.

“Sorry.” You apologised, your eyes shifting about the room nervously as you slowly righted your position.

Orlo hummed softly, his eyes fluttering as he seemed to slowly take stock of his surroundings. Drearily, the Count pushed his elbows beneath his body, his back arching as he leaned further up in his bed. 

“W-” Orlo paused, his voice croaky as his brows became furrowed. “What happened?”

You smiled at him warmly as you tilted your head to the side, your eyes casting over his form as you took in his bleary eyed state. His hair was mussed to the side, rogue flyaways standing on end as the small green ribbon he had wound around its lengths had loosened in his sleep. His tongue swiped out across his lips as he pressed a hand to his throat, a deep frown line carving its way through his forehead as he cleared his voice.

Taking the wordless hint, you moved around the room in a flurry to gather the small jug of water you had requested upon your arrival. Pouring out a small cup, you handed it back to Orlo gently; your fingers brushing hesitantly against his own.

“You passed out.” You supplied as you watched him press the small ornate glass to his lips. 

Orlo wasted no time in demolishing the water, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he saw it off in two large gulps. Smacking his lips, his eyes scanned the glass within his hands closely, his gaze latched to the morphing mirage of lights as he twisted the etched design in the nearby flickering candlelight.

Softly you pried the now empty glass from his fingers. Orlo’s brown eyes catching your own as they seemed to regain the clarity you were used to seeing, the sleep that had clouded his mind dissolving away quickly.

Just as suddenly as he had awoken, you watched as the usual worry and tolls of being a high court member worked their way into Orlo’s features. His brows arched as the deep lines in his face wormed their way back into their usual places, the shadows beneath his eyes darkening as the stress reclaimed its victim. 

Trying to maintain at least one step ahead of Orlo’s quick mind, you gathered the stray additional pillows that rested at the bottom of his bed, plumping them up with your hands before repositioning them amongst the rest.

“You _need_ to rest.” You commented as you watched his eyes flicker between two invisible points. 

“What happened?” Orlo uttered again, his hands clenching against the sheets as he seemed to struggle to recall the events which had occurred prior to his collapse.

“They caught the perpetrator in Count Rostov, he tried to kill Peter in front of Catherine, Georgina and Grigor.” You kept your retelling brief in its details, eager to avoid the endless questioning and needless worrying that you knew he was all too capable of. 

“They cancelled the rest of the interrogations just as you were due to go in.” You paused, your lip pressed between your teeth as you bit down upon it lightly. Eager to steer the topic away from the current state of the coup and towards the more pressing issue of his health, you gently placed your hands against the Count’s shoulders.

“You need to rest, Orlo.” You urged as you tried to ease him back down into the bed, “You collapsed over an _hour_ ago.”

Orlo’s eyes remained fixated on a point across from him, a look that made him appear to be so far away while so present at the same time. You recognised it from passing’s before, moments where he would become so wrapped up in that elaborate brain of his that he would become lost within his raging thoughts. For although he was an intelligent man, he had the tendency to become over fixated on the smallest of points, worrying about their consequences far before the event had even happened. 

Shaking his head, the Count seemed to pull himself from the disorientating surge of thoughts.

“I don’t have _time_ to rest.” Orlo reasoned, his hand casually batting yours away from his shoulders. “-there is much to prepare. So much to prepare. It was bad enough with the five of us but now _Leo_?”

You gritted your teeth as you cradled your stinging flesh, the burn that Orlo had unwilling knocked as he disregarded your concerned worrying flared to life once more. Blinking away the tears which welled in your eyes, you tried to reason with him.

“All of that can wait now, Orlo.” 

The Count sighed deeply, his hands pressing to his eyes as he rubbed at them slowly.

“How is Catherine? Is she still in court?”

You tried to ignore the burn of jealousy that threatened to rear its head at the comment. Settling down on the edge of his bed once again, you turned your eyes away to watch the flickering flame of his bedside candle. 

“Well…” You began, “I assume she is bedding her lover, Leo and preparing for the feast later on this evening.” 

From your periphery, you caught Orlo’s hands falling away from his eyes as he kept his eyelids closed shut, a heavy sigh befalling his features as he randomly gestured in the air before him.

“If that is the case then I suppose I should prepare…”

“Prepare what?” You bit back quickly as you turned your head towards him sharply, “There is nothing to prepare, Orlo. Everyone is resting and having their wounds tended to, your presence won’t be missed for a couple of hours.”

“And what of Peter?” Orlo questioned back, his eyes fluttering open as he met your own for the first time that evening. In an instance his mouth fell ajar, his eyebrows rising significantly as his throat seemed to close up at the sight of you. 

“Undeterred as usual and still a fucking imbicile if thats what you’re asking.” You rolled your eyes as you looked away, your knees aching as you pulled yourself from his bed side and turned to go and fetch some more water. 

The bitterness you felt was needlessly being placed on his own stubborn attitudes towards his duties. Any other day you would have swooned over his dedication, your heart skipping a beat as you dared to dream up wild fantasies of a shared future together. But now your body ached from the tribulation that you had been put through, your back pulsing with every sharp movement, hands numb and aching from the burns which littered your skin and eye pulsing from the swelling. Taking a shuddering breath you willed away the animosity and negativity from your heart, focusing solely on the warmth that had filled Orlo’s cheeks as he had awakened from the slumber you feared he would never rouse from. 

Reaching for the jug, you tipped the remaining water into the glass, your eyes roaming across your seeping hands with disdain. 

You hated this place with a passion, the darkness which lined the halls seeping into your skin and twisting your mind. It was suffocating, swallowing the light that you so desperately clung to and submerging you into a never ending night. The days had become so much darker since the coup had formed, every single waking moment so much harder to pull yourself through. Everyone had their own passion to fight for, their own goals to gain from the overthrowing of Peter, their own light to ward away the troubling and depressing thoughts that lingered in the backs of their heads. Orlo was your own beacon, a tether to your heart that pulled you back from the precipice each time that you lingered too close to its edge. 

A rogue tear slipped down your cheek as you caught your hazy reflection looking back at you in the water of the glass, a lead weight forming in your stomach as your shoulders fell. As usual when in his company your mind wandered back to the evening of which you had declared your intentions, tongue warm with the burn of vodka and heart light with the surging confidence that had flooded your veins. It felt so long ago now when he had met your own eyes with tears of his own, his face torn between two emotions as he reached for your hands with a delicacy no man could ever replicate themselves. 

“ _Shit_..” 

You were torn from your thoughts at the hoarse whisper, your free hand brushing away the tears that stained your cheeks as you spun on your heel to face Orlo once again. To your surprise he was sitting further upright in his bed, his hands braced either side of him as his eyes slowly surveyed your form up and down.

“What?”

“Your back…” Orlo uttered, his lower lip trembling as his eyes snapped to meet your own gaze. “-and your face. I-I-”

He looked away with a sneer, his hands balling into fists as he latched at his hair and huffed with frustration at himself. Placing the glass of water to one side, you approached the bed slowly once more. 

“I’m sitting here _complaining_ about the state of the court and-” Orlo broke off, his eyes briefly catching your form. 

“ _Fuck_ , I am a careless prick.” He cursed, his hand running through the tangled flyaways of his hair and brushing them off from his features. 

Shifting in the bed, the Count slowly leveraged himself to the edge, his hand extended outwards as he beckoned you closer. 

“Have you been seen?” 

You bit down on your tongue as you slowly closed the distance between you, your hand brushing across his own as he took it between his palms. With a soft hiss, his fingers slowly traced the outline of the burn, his eyes shimmering in the flickering candle light as he peered up at you expectantly.

“They are not bad, nothing compared to the state of others.” Your excuse was cut short as a small yelp was forced from your chest, Orlo’s hands freezing in place near a particularly aggravated burn. 

Raising an eyebrow, he wordlessly challenged your statement, indicating that you take up your seat perched on the side of his bed once more. Rolling your eyes, you slumped down against the covers, your face quickly cupped by the soft skin of his palms as he tilted your chin side to side.

“So you haven’t been seen?” He tried again, his eyes scanning your features closely.

“There was no time I-” You broke off, your voice trembling as you recalled the way his body had been hauled through the palace; his feet dragging along the floor and gathering all manners of dust, dirt and grime. 

“I was looking after you.” You finished with a sad smile, “I was worried.”

Orlo’s hands fell away from your cheeks slowly, a small sad smile of his own tugging at his features as he seemingly acknowledged the secret message you were trying to convey. The moment was bittersweet as his eyes suddenly fell to your hands, their positioning nestled just beside his own, a single pinky finger extended outwards reaching for the comfort of his companionship. 

“Then we create a vicious circle for ourselves.” He muttered, his voice low as he heaved a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For not protecting you.” 

Sliding his finger across the sheets, your breath caught in the back of your throat as his skin brushed against your own, his finger curling in against yours and tethering your souls together. The tears that you had tried to banish welled forth once again, your vision blurring as you desperately tried to keep your composure together.

“It wasn’t _your_ fault, Orlo.” You declared breathlessly, your eyes hesitantly flickering to meet his own. “There wasn’t anything anyone could do.”

Orlo forced a smile as he nodded slowly, but you could tell from the deep frown that carved its way through his features that your words did not carry through to his heart; the place where it mattered most. 

“In Fact…” You quickly added, his hooded eyes widening as your voice captured his full attention once more. Shifting closer in the bed, you leaned into the warmth that he emanated, your cheeks flushing as you struggled to hold his gaze. 

“-It was you that helped me through it.” You whispered, “Knowing you and…” 

You cursed your ineloquence with the words you longed to say, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you pressed your free hand against your face in embarrassment. Orlo’s finger entwined with your own tightened as he seemingly willed you to continue, to voice the feelings that you had and always would harbour. 

“You’re the bravest man I know.” You finally announced, your soul falling into those wide chocolate eyes as you relinquished all control on the barriers that often held you back. 

“Not just the bravest, but you’re the smartest, kindest and most caring person within this _fucking_ place. Just knowing that you would be there on the other side of the doors as I walked out gave me the bravery that I needed to face it all.” Your breath caught in the back of your throat as you watched his nostrils flare, his chest expanding outwards as he held his chin a little higher. 

“So no… you couldn’t _protect_ me, Orlo. But you did _help_ me and I know you always will.” You paused, chewing the inside of your lip as you debated alluding to the topic that had thrown your relationship into question once again. 

“Thank you.” Orlo breathed, his teeth flashing as his features lifted and a smile bloomed. 

“I-” He stuttered, his finger tightening around your own as he leaned forwards ever so slightly, his breath hot and heavy as it fanned across your features. “I hope you realise that I feel the same way- but- _uh-_ for you of course!” 

Feeling your heart flutter at the clumsy compliment, you broached the topic that lingered in the awkward silence between you.

“Orlo…” You began, “I truly do care for you in ways that far supersede that of a friend, and… well, I think - _and hope_ \- it’s the same way in which you feel for me.”

Orlo froze in his spot as his eyes widened, his breaths becoming shallower as his eyes flickered between your own in a moment of panic. Quelling the rising worry and frustration at such a reaction, you nudged his leg with your elbow.

“Am I wrong?”

“No.” He uttered, his head shaking and causing the loose hairs he had only just restyled to fall free again. “No you are not wrong-”

“Then why don’t we act on those feelings?” You pushed, interrupting whatever torrent of words lingered just beyond his lips. 

“Because-” He paused, his own brow furrowing as he seemingly struggled to comprehend the question. “It’s-”

Sighing he glanced down at the way your fingers remained wrapped around each other, his touch receding away from your own and recreating the space between you. The movement struck you harder than it should, the space that he assigned stretching out between your hearts like an endless chasm that was impossible to cross, a cold bitter wind taking a hold of your crackling embers of hope and extinguishing them once again. 

In an instance the moment threw you back to that first night, to the way his eyes had shimmered as he held your hands and fumbled with your confession. Deep down you had known to prepare yourself for the worst, the biting sting of rejection unavoidable at times. But this state of limbo you found yourself in now was far worse than any declining comment you could have dreamed up, it was a state of play that teased your longing heart and sent your head spiralling through loops. 

At first you had been understanding in his wish to see through the plans that had already been set in motion, you had listened wholeheartedly as he explained how although he did share some blossoming feelings towards you, he felt as though the timing just wasn’t right for the perusal of a relationship other than close friends. You hadn’t argued otherwise as he suggested you return to your usual eb and flow, instead accepting that he would always be a man of two loves.

You almost wished you hadn’t confessed your feelings sometimes. 

“Because it isn’t _the right time_.” Orlo declared, his hands latching to the edge of his covers as he pulled them further up his lap. Keeping your head bowed, you remained fixated on your limp hand, your finger still outstretched towards his own as you cried and pleaded for a chance, an opportunity to nurture the budding love that crackled between you.

“I thought we had discussed this.” Orlo whispered, his voice seemingly stern as he shook his head, “I thought we had decided on waiting-”

“You decided.” You muttered bitterly, the tears in your eyes spilling as you pulled your hand into your lap. 

“What?”

“I said you decided.” You announced again but louder, your red raw eyes latching onto his own. 

Orlo’s mouth fell ajar as he seemed to reel back in shock at the expression written across your features, his hand hesitantly reaching into the space between you. Jumping away, you reset the hard boundaries of which you had been abiding by before, your back and hands aching as you clutched at your skirts and rounded to the end of his bed. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt-”

“Oh _fuck off._ ” You sighed, your anger getting the best of you as you regarded him with a look of disdain. “If you don’t want to be with me-”

“NO!” 

It was Orlo’s turn to interrupt as he leapt up onto his knees on the bed, his hand outstretched as he winced at the pitch of his voice.

“ _No,_ No-” He stumbled, his hand clenching and unclenching as he struggled to form even the simplest of sentences. “It’s just- _well_ \- with the coup and-”

You rolled your eyes, your fingers brushing across your cheeks as you wiped away the salty tracks that littered your features. Clearing your throat, you brushed down the front of your dress, utterly uninterested in the babbling sounds that poured from his lips. 

“We have waited so long.” You lamented, your hands clutched respectfully at your front. “You always say to wait but you never state for how long, or what for-”

You tilted your head as you watched him fall back amongst the sheets.

“The coup..” He began.

“This coup could go on for years.” You interrupted, “You’re telling me you would be content to hold fire on the pursuit of your own interests for years?”

“Of course not-”

“Then how long, Orlo?”

Your heart shattered ever further as the Count simply stared at you silently, his mouth opening and closing as though he was a fish that had been plucked from the safe haven on his pond. His shoulders sagged slowly as he further slumped down amongst the pillows, his hands resting against the soft silk sheets. Inhaling sharply, you looked away briefly to reset your composure, your chin rising as you nodded slowly to yourself in affirmation.

“I can’t wait forever, Orlo.” You sighed, your fingers winding their way amongst themselves. “Whatever it is that’s holding you back, that you’re scared of-”

You frowned as you licked your lips, dreading the words that were to come next.

“I hope you work through it because I can’t keep going on like this.” 

The words cracked as you finished your final piece, your head ducking as you turned and rushed from the room without another word. Behind you, you heard the soft whisper of your name trail your shadow to the door, Orlo’s voice completely cut off as you closed the wooden barricade with a soft click. 

The numbness that you had feared seeped from the cracks in your heart as you paced down the corridors and back to your own quarters, the bustling blurred silhouettes of passing nobles and serfs passing you by in a silent flurry of colours. Your senses seemed dulled down into nothingness, even your concern for your wounds melted away into nothingness as your mind became filled with the expansive void of sorrow and heartache. Outside, the winds and rain continued to batter against the palace, a physical representation of the storm that was slowly developing between your heart and your head. 

You barely noticed when Leo clasped a hand around the top of your arm, his grip strong and reassuring as he eased you into his side. Through bleary eyes you had met his concerned gaze, his smile warming as he gestured to a door beside him.

“You look like you need a drink.” He declared, “Come join us.” 

“I should get myself checked over-”

“Chekov is here.” He added quickly, his hand already nestled into the crook of your elbow as he eased you into the bustling room of groaning injured nobles. “Come, I have the most marvellous concoction to show you.”

Forcing a grin to your features, you threw yourself into the comforting embrace of vodka.

The rest of the afternoon and early evening passed like a blur as you merrily enjoyed sharing drinks with the fellow members of court, all of your anger and heartache merging with their own as you collectively directed your frustrations towards that of the Emperor. It felt relieving to openly curse the ‘great and fantastic’ Peter in front of the very court members he longed to please, your tongue running wild as you shared your musings of a future filled with peace.

Chekov had also been on hand to nurse you and your wounds, a waxy ointment rubbed over the skin of your hands before being bandaged tightly in fresh cloth strips. He had even surveyed your back in a small private room, his fingers poking and prodding around a particularly sore welt that graced your shoulder. His touch wasn’t as soft and caressing as Orlo’s had been when he surveyed the welts which marred your hand, but it was a relief nonetheless to have the injuries assessed by a knowledgeable eye. He had done the same treatment for the wound, pressing a soft bundle of bandages between your corset and your skin; reminding you to bathe and clean them later on in the evening. 

After a slight stumble you had retired to prepare for the evening meal, your nerves alight as you noted that you would soon be faced with the one man you had been intent on avoiding for the rest of the week. You had considered a wide variety of excuses with your father, pardoning your presence due to a sudden bout of sickness, or to nurse the very injuries you had sustained from the Emperor. Each and every one of them were turned down however as he noted that almost everyone was expected to attend, the staff making room for extended members of the court which may not have usually dined beside the leader of Russia. 

That was how you found yourself standing before the doors with a blank stare, your mind far away as you tapped your foot in a nervous tick. Your arm remained latched around your fathers, your body pressed against his own as you awaited your turn to enter the bustling room of dignitaries and high class court members. With any luck the dark mass of individuals meant that every seat near or around the general vicinity of Orlo had been occupied, yourself and your father forced to take a seat in the back of the room away from prying eyes. 

Tugging you sharply, you were pulled from your reverie as your father led you into the room at the sound of your name being called. Inhaling shakily, you followed in sync as you passed through the beautifully painted white and gold doors and into the warm glow of the banquet hall. 

As you had expected the top ends of the tables were packed with their usual faces, each member huddled close as they chatted amongst themselves with low accusatory voices. All eyes would flicker to the door with each new entrance, the chatter ebbing slightly before picking up to its usual volume and pace. Glancing up to your father, you released your hold on his arm and gestured for him to lead the way to your seats, your eyes hesitant to leave anywhere but that of his figure and the floor.

Your retreat to the back of the room was going swimmingly before a set of feet suddenly jumped into the space between yourself and your father, your eyes widening as you recognised the small heeled shoes and white stockings. Shyly you glanced up to find Orlo standing between you and your father, his body tilted to the side as he whispered quickly and quietly with him. 

With a smirk and a nod of his head, your father clasped his hand against Orlo’s shoulder before turning and retreating to the back of the room; stranding you with the one person you had wanted to avoid. 

“Hi.” Orlo paused, his hands gesturing to the seats beside you at the top end of the table. 

“I- _uh_ \- I saved you a seat.”

You furrowed your brow in a look of confusion as you glanced between him and the pulled out chair. 

In all of your time knowing Orlo he had never offered to have you sit beside him during the evening banquets. Sometimes it was beyond his control, your status too low to be offered the chance to enjoy an evening meal with the Emperor of Russia. Usually the seats at the high end of the table were reserved for the most loyal and upstanding court members, the seat beside them held as a placement for their partners for the evening. Orlo had always passed on the opportunity to have you seated beside him, instead opting for Velementov as they remained squirreled away to the side silently begging to the ‘gods that be’ to not become a focus point for the Emperor’s rage or entertainment.

“Y-You-” It was your turn to stutter as you felt various eyes around the room fall onto your form, your skin heating up for no apparent reason at all. Realistically you knew that you couldn’t turn him down in front of so many nobles and dignitaries, it would only add to the mounting lists of jabs and insults that were thrown his way from various members of the court. 

Besides, it would make a pleasant change to be seated closer to the head of the table for once. 

“Of course.”

Smiling, Orlo pulled your seat free as you eased yourself down beside Velementov, your teeth gritting as your back ached from the contact. Once you were seated, the Count slid into the chair beside you, his eyes quickly glancing around the room as though he was assessing any potential risk before relaxing back into his chair. 

Despite the bubbling chatter that reverberated around the room, an awkward air of silence washed over yourself and Orlo as you struggled to find the right words to say beyond the pleasantries of court. Although you wanted him to address the parting conversation you had shared in his rooms, you also acknowledged that the banquet hall with many a wandering ear would not be the best place to do so. Idle chatter didn’t seem the best option either, the ultimatum you had thrown his way seemingly sending your already undefined relationship spinning as you both hung in an odd sense of limbo.

Placing your hands on the mirrored table, you toyed with the leaves of the elaborate garland that ran the front edge of the banquet table. The food was yet to be served, but the drinks you had been enjoying throughout the early evening were happily being poured, your glass filled to the brim with a bubbling wine. Plucking it from the table, you threw the flute back as you polished off the crisp alcohol, your mind numbing with it’s welcomed effects.

It was then that you noticed the small white place card that had been knocked to the side, your fingers plucking it up into your hands as you lowered your glass back down. Running your thumb across the scripture, you noted that it had been etched with Velementov’s name as opposed to your own. 

Glancing from the corner of your eye, you caught Orlo’s gaze doing the same. 

“Velementov?” You questioned as you raised the card to the air.

The man in question shifted beside you, a low hearty chuckle rocking through you as you watched Orlo’s eyes widen slightly before a sheepish smile crawled across his features. It was obvious he had plucked on some strings and cashed in on a few favours to have you moved to the seat beside his own, Velementov repositioned to the other side of you and in the place of yet another court member.

Opening his mouth, the words Orlo had wanted to say were cut off as the entire banquet hall plunged into a deafening silence. You watched in confusion as the Count’s eyes shifted from your form and towards the back of the room, his eyes widening as he leaned back into his chair. Following his gaze, your breath caught in your throat as you acknowledged the entrance of the Emperor and Empress.

Leaning away from the table, you watched in silent amusement as the couple walked up along the centre of the table hand in hand, their eyes slowly crawling around the room and taking in the myriad of disdained scar ridden faces. Peter seemed to be whispering to Catherine beneath his breath, his eyes wide with worry as he hastened his steps towards the top of the table.

Upon passing you, Catherine regarded Orlo and yourself with a small smirk, her chin rising as she picked up her facade once more and rounded to her chair.

“Well… what a day” Peter declared to the room, his tone embarrassingly out of place for the sour mood which hung over the court. “I suppose we all learned something today.”

“Bloody flesh hurts when salted.” Leo declared from the row across you, his hands crossed over his chest as he glanced from Arkady sat beside him then back to the Emperor.

“ _Brilliant_ , Leo.” Peter smirked, a forced laugh filling the air as he raised his hand towards his wife’s lover, “It is good to laugh about it.”

The room remained settled in a still silence as Peter searched for any sign of amusement at the day’s events, his hands folding in on themselves as he physically shrunk back at the standoffish attitude that was being directed his way. You revelled in the obvious discomfort he embodied, struggling to keep a smirk from your features as you pouted your lips instead.

“Look I thank you all for your loyalty, and we will celebrate it as the plotter is dead! _Huzzah_!”

“ _Huzzah_!” Grigor echoed from his seat just off to the side of the Emperor, a glass of vodka clutched tightly in his hand as he raised it towards the sky.

The rest of the room however remained strong in their position, the usual declaration falling short, the air lacking the distinct sound of glass shattering.

“Ah well… enjoy the hog.” Peter declared as he seemingly gave up on rousing his court members once more. Pulling the chair away from the table, his eyes shifted nervously across to Catherine. 

“Pear soufflé for dessert, first pears of the season…” He paused his head ducking as he slowly lowered himself down into his seat. “I _think_ …”

With the Emperor and Empress seated, you finally felt as though you could breathe, your chest heaving as you glanced across to Orlo quickly. He seemed entranced with the couple at the head table, his eyes shining in the low light of the room as his gaze trailed that of Catherine. The admiration that sparkled in his eyes sent your head spinning, your heart longing for the day that he would admire you with the same bewitched gaze.

Ignoring the bitter tang that coated your tongue, you turned back to the head of the table in time to see Catherine rise from her seat, her hands clasped before her in an awkward manner as she surveyed the room.

“I look at you all and my heart breaks by your pain, for your sorrows.” Catherine began, her voice carrying across the room and hitting home to all of the disgruntled members sat before her. You watched silently as she made a point of twisting her injured hand in the light, the bandage wrapped around her finger clear to see in a moment of solidarity.

“But I also see, externally, signs of what we all carry inside us every day and are normally unseen.” She continued, “Wounds, pain, hardships, betrayals…..” 

Your eyes fell to the mirrored surface of the table before you, your heart leaping as you noted Orlo’s head had turned further round to face your own. Whipping your gaze to the side, you found yourself lost in the warm chocolate pools that were his eyes as he watched you carefully, his skin practically glowing in the candlelight as he made the slightest move towards you. 

Suddenly a wave of guilt washed over you as you reconsidered the sharpness of your words that you had parted upon, your mind working against you as you struggled to keep the rogue thoughts at bay. Orlo had quickly become a rock in your life, a constant that you could turn towards and lean against whenever you needed to. It was why you felt so drawn to him in the first place, his nature so perfectly counterbalancing your own and keeping your mind sane as you lived through an unpredictable life in the palace.

Orlo had been here far longer than yourself, he had suffered more, worked harder and longer, learned to adapt easier and established himself in ways that you were yet to understand. Maybe you had been too quick to leap for the opportunities that presented themselves, perhaps he truly did need more time to process the feelings he was experiencing or to find a way to let you down gently. 

You shivered at the thought of his rejection now, knowing fully well that the departure of such a constant in your life would truly shatter you in ways that Peter’s impromptu torture sessions could not.

“And also _love_.” 

Your cheeks flushed as you tuned back into Catherine’s speech, your head acknowledging the weight of her words. Your heart clenched tightly in your chest as you swallowed away the lump that formed in the back of your throat, eyes never leaving Orlo’s as he too seemed to register the notes of her speech. 

The gaze you each shared was heavy and infinite in its nature, a thousand words silently being conveyed with a simple look that promised you with answers to your questions, as well as a future opportunity to speak. 

Any other man would have cowered away from a woman’s gaze at the prospect of love and a future spent together, a sacred commitment to each other which could not be replicated through the presence of another. Orlo hadn’t faltered for a second, his gaze instead scanning across your features as though he was reading you and memorising each minute detail for years to come.

Surely that fact alone counted for something.

Tilting his head ever so slightly, Orlo gave you a brief sharp nod as if confirming your thoughts, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“For today you are all one, and when you look at each other recognise it, understand that we are all Russians.”

Leaning to the side, Orlo’s eyes slowly peeled away from your form and back to Catherine. You did the same as you tilted back around in your chair, your eyes following her form as you felt the previously extinguished embers of hope flare to life once more, the flickering flames filled with more potential than they ever had before.

“In our pain and in our sorrows, in our simple hopes for less pain, a less wounded future. For a future where our hearts sing and rush with joy at the country we build, one where we trust in each other, bonded by our love for Russia and our joy in a brand new future.” 

Reaching for her glass, Catherine pulled it high.

“ _Huzzah_ ,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Slowly a clap started to fill the room before morphing into a thunderous applause. Orlo clambered to his feet slowly, his hand reaching for your elbow as he eased you up beside him. You joined in with the celebration, your teeth gritted sharply together through the ache as you signalled your own solidarity with the Empress and her movement. Glass clashed to the floor as the crowd cheered with a single ‘Huzzah’, the future vision you all shared brightening as it began to dawn just across the horizon.

The cries and applause died down quickly as an army of serfs poured in through the doors, their hands filled with plates of sliced hog and potatoes as they quickly served the now elated members of the court with a well practiced speed and efficiency. 

Taking a deep breath you fell back into your chair with a lighter mind than that of the one you had entered with, your eyes falling to the space before you as a plate was served to you. The silver dish was stacked high with slices of meat and potatoes, a thick dark gravy oozing over the edges as it slowly started to spill on to the mirrored surface of the table. 

Reaching for your knife and fork, you briefly spared Velementov a glance as he went in with his hands, a large slice of pork being thrown into the back of his mouth as he leaned back with a satisfied groan.

“Ignore him.”

You jumped as you turned back to face Orlo, his face far closer than you had expected it to be. Registering your surprise, he quickly replaced the space between you with a sad smile.

“He can be loud and rambunctious once he has had a drink and some food.”

Nodding slowly you licked your lips in a vain attempt to wet your suddenly dry lips, your skin crawling with embarrassment as you struggled to find the words to say in order to navigate the strange impasse you had created in your mind. Orlo seemed keen to skirt the topic entirely for the time being, and deep down you reasoned it was probably the right decision seeing as you were sitting in a room packed with ferocious judgemental snobs. 

“I hadn’t expected less” You laughed a little too forcedly, Orlo’s eyebrows rising as he regarded you with an inquisitive gaze.

Turning away, you picked up the cutlery that had been set beside your plate, your hands shaking as you struggled to hold the silverware correctly. Biting your tongue, you tried in vain to cut through the meat, but the sting in your hands and stiffness of your fingers left your grasp weak leading you to drop the utensils to the side with a clatter.

Thankfully your mishap only drew the attention of Velementov and Orlo, if it had been anyone else you were sure your pitiful attempts would have been met with well placed japes.

“For _fucks_ sake Orlo, help the woman.”

“It’s fine, Velementov.” You smiled your cheeks flushing red as you went to retrieve your cutlery once more.

Your hands were blocked however by the soft touch of Orlo’s fingers on your wrist, his chair screeching across the floor as he shuffled himself in closer to your side. Freezing in place, you felt your chest shudder as his hot breath flushed across your cheeks and down your neck, your stomach twisting with the same hot want you had been harbouring for months.

“Let me.” Orlo whispered, his hands latching onto your silverware as he pulled the plate towards him. 

Pressing your bandaged hands to your face, you watched as he proceeded to cut away at the meat into smaller more manageable bite size pieces, his eyes fixated on your food and leaving his own serving pushed off to the side; abandoned and left to cool.

“Do they hurt?” Orlo’s words were short as he barely managed to conceal his anger, sawing at the meat you watched his knuckles turn a stark white. “Your back? Your face-”

“Yes.” You supplied unhelpfully, “But Chekov saw me earlier, so all is well.”

“What did he say?”

“That I will be completely fine as long as I keep my wounds clean and apply the ointment. It will hurt and I may have some scarring but…” You paused, “I’ll be fine. I’m always _fine_.”

“And your eye?”

“Will ease up gradually just as the other bruises form-”

Your words were cut off as Orlo pressed down a little too hard onto the plate, his aggressive sawing technique on your food becoming too much as your cutlery jolted forwards within his hands. Following through with the force he had exerted, you watched in silent horror as Orlo’s hand knocked into the tall empty glass before you; the flute knocked from its perch and sent clattering to the floor below. 

Your breath hitched as Orlo jolted back into his seat, his eyes wide as he quickly waved the attending serf’s away with a heavy sigh. Sparing a quick look around the room, you were thankful to note that the court’s attention was still fixated elsewhere, the loud cacophony of voices bubbling away without easing up in the slightest.

Regathering your cutlery, Orlo returned to cutting up your food once again. 

Eager to bridge the suffocating silence that threatened to swallow you both, you awkwardly cleared your throat.

“Thank you by the way, you didn’t need to do this.”

Orlo’s neck craned as he turned to regard you briefly, his face crumpling in disappointment before his teeth flashed in a brief half-hearted smile. 

“You are my _dearest_ -” He paused, his tongue swiping across his lips as he seemed to struggle to find the right words to define your relationship. 

“ _Dearest friend_.” He decided on, the sincerity in his tone clear for all to see, “I would do anything for you, I hope you know that.”

Your eyes watered as you nodded slowly in affirmation.

“And I you.” You whispered.

Orlo’s gaze returned to your plate of food, his hands shaking with a slight tremor as he seemed to struggle to play the scenario you found yourselves in out within his head. Always so calculated and precise with his actions, words and presence, it quickly dawned on you that he had never anticipated the strange situation you both found yourselves within now.

Perhaps that was a good thing in a strange and wonderful way, but you couldn’t help but fall prey to the growing sense of apprehension and hurt that wrapped its way around your heart.


End file.
